


Do I Contradict Myself?

by Cimila



Category: North and South (UK TV)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, Tropes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2018-04-24 10:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4916005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cimila/pseuds/Cimila
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only reason Margaret could think of for imposing on Mr. Thornton in such a way, was that she had been more affected by the blow to the head the previous day than she'd known.</p>
<p>Why else would she simply not tell Henry Lennox the truth of the matter? The continuation of the charade, however, she cannot blame upon concussion.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Or, Margaret accidentally tells the world she's dating Mr. John Thornton, who is ecstatic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday Flick!!! <3 It's still the second, even if by about half hour, so it still counts. The html was wrong somewhere and I couldn't find it but then I did, so _here_
> 
> I know you wanted another chapter of RED, but that's not done yet. Well, this isn't finished either, but at least this is post-able. This only has another chapter to go, full of lovely, lovely tropes, and should be up soon. :)
> 
> The title is from a Walt Whitman poem, but I can't remember which one atm, will edit this when I remember. The full quote from that section of the poem is:
> 
> "Do I contradict myself? Very well, then. I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes."

While Margaret certainly knew she’d see Henry again, being related through Edith as they now were, she’d not expected him to come to Milton. Even less than that, she’d not expected him to come for her...seeking her hand, once more. She had never been good at kind rejections, had never learnt how, and she had already turned him down once already. Not so much time had passed that her opinions had changed; Margaret knew she was not inclined to marry, not at this moment, and _not_ to Henry Lennox.

She had already said so once, and caused offense, however much an accident it had been.

Now, Margaret knew she would have to do it again, but did not think that their friendship could weather a dismissal as blunt as her last one. She knew no other way to turn him aside, however, and so, standing in the sitting room of their house in Milton, which she was growing fond of, she looked Henry in the eye. She would have to do it, for she could not accept his suit for the sake of their friendship.

She would not.

There was a knock on the doorframe, Dixon standing in the open door, and it was a benediction if ever Margaret had seen one.

“Yes, Dixon?” She said, instead of answering Henry. If it were at all possible, she would relish the chance to escape the conversation she was about to have. Though rude, if she could merely utter _‘no’_ once more and move to deal with other matters of urgency, such that she could not continue to entertain him, Margaret has to admit she would likely take up the opportunity.

“Sorry to interrupt,” She was not sorry, Margaret could tell; times were rare indeed where Dixon felt the need to apologise sincerely for what she saw as her job. Although, as Margaret could attest to, sometimes she stretched the boundaries of her tasks to include, in order of recent happenings, off the top of her head, scolding Margaret, speaking kindly but sternly to Mr. Hale, raising her eyebrow at Margaret in that way she had - the one which had made Margaret admit to any fault when she was a child - and levelling Henry with a shrewd, discerning eye when he’d appeared at the door.

Had Mr. Henry Lennox not also been technically family, Margaret highly doubts she would have left him in the door, high society standing, riches and all.

“Mr. Thornton is here for you, Miss Margaret.” Margaret blinked once, surprised. Though, was her head not so clouded by the incident at the mill the day prior, and Bessy, and now Henrys unwanted, second proposal, she supposed she would not be surprised. For all he is not like the gentlemen she was accustomed, he was still a gentleman, in his own, Northern way.

“Show him up please, Dixon, if you would.” The large frame of the lady moved out of the door, and down the stairs. Hurrying as much as is proper, perhaps a bit quicker, if Margaret had her guess. For all that Margaret would sometimes speak harshly towards her, the woman had helped raise her. Like a second aunt, sometimes, perhaps even one she preferred. However, no matter how fast Dixon hurried down through the house and then back up with Mr. Thornton, it would still not grant her escape from the unfortunate duty she had to attend.

Henry Lennox was still waiting for her reply.

Honestly, what had overcome him in order to inspire the trip to Milton, almost solely for her hand, Margaret could not begin to guess.

“Henry,” She started, wondered if that was too informal, if she should have said Mr. Lennox, though it had been quite some time since they had been so distant acquaintances. One word in, and Margaret already felt as if she’d erred terribly. Oh, had Henry Lennox been so kind as to stay in London. Or if, as he had insinuated briefly, his business in Milton had been concluded too swiftly for him to have time to drop in for this call.

“I thank you for your offer made, once again.” His face tightened, drawing in at the mouth, now expecting the answer she was to give. How he had hoped for anything else, she could not possibly know. It looked as if he would scowl his way back to London, though she had now seen worse looks directed her way. She had, after all, been treated to quite a few of Mr. Thorntons blackest looks.

“Are you still intimating that marriage is not yet for you?” Henry asks, after a pause where Margaret had been trying to think of what to say. What she would not give to have some easy answer to give him, a way to soften the blow that her own conscience would not allow in her words. Better to be firm with him, even if it edges into meanness, that to let him remain with whatever false hope it was that brought him calling with such an idea.

Footsteps, then, ascending the stair. Margaret could not help the way she looked eagerly for Dixons return, even if the man she escorted was not a particular favourite of hers. Perhaps Mr. Thornton could be persuaded to stay until Henry left. It would likely be a stilted sort of conversation, between the three of them, but perhaps it would save her from the angered, sullen silence she was only a few words from receiving.

Mr. Thornton appeared, hat in hand, and Dixon nowhere to be seen. Looking at him, with his handsome face not as dark as she usually saw, and in her mind still she saw him standing before the crowd of angered union workers, attempting to do as she’d bade him. In such a light, the idea which had come quite suddenly to her did not seem so preposterous. 

Perhaps it was the blow to her head which had made her see him so, which made her think of the idea in the first place.

Upon later reflection, Margaret would also like to place the blame for the next words out of her mouth on that singular blow. Perhaps she should have been prevailed upon to stay at the Mill, because clearly she was not in possession of all her faculties, to have come up with so farfetched an idea and, instead of banishing it to the far corners of her mind, voicing it.

“Mr. Lennox, may I introduce you to Mr. Thornton.” Both men bowed to each other, shallowly as was preferred, and said their courtesies. Henry turned back to her first, face still tight with resentment he was apparently not well versed in concealing.

“In answer to your previous question, Henry, I did not intend to infer that. On the contrary, I cannot accept your proposal for a reason quite the opposite.” Henry drew himself up, and though she was focusing her attention almost solely on him, quite impolite of her though Margaret felt that she could be excused, given the circumstances, she noticed Mr. Thornton straightened also.

“You see,” And, here, was where some form of momentary, impact based insanity must have come upon her, for the next words Margaret spoke were absolutely ludicrous.

“Mr. Thornton has come here to keep me company.” It was a good thing Henry was so focused on her, for Mr. Thorntons expression would have told truth. 

“I… beg your pardon, Margaret, but I think I have misunderstood.” Henry said, after a moment, and Margaret could not entirely blame him. It had not been so long, after all, since she had denied him her hand, and now she was claiming to have completely reversed her position in favour of another man.

Oh, dear. Perhaps this was not the kindest way, after all. 

There was nothing she could do about that now, though, without claiming herself a liar, and humiliating him even more. To learn that she’d thought up a prior, fake, courtship just to deter his interest would surely intrude upon his esteem even further. No, she had chosen her path and now she must stick to it.

“I think not, Henry. I cannot marry you because, well…” She could not help but trail off, her throat tightening around the outright lie until she could not speak at all. While it could be said that Mr. Thornton was here to visit her, it was not because he was courting her. He was here only to inquire as to her wellbeing after being struck before his eyes, as she had left his residence before he could ascertain the damage received. Had he arrived before Henry, she would have called herself well and sent him on his way again. Now, such fanciful notions having slipped easily from her tongue, she was not so sure.

“I have prevailed upon Miss Hale several times prior, and she has been kind enough to indulge me. The path between Marlborough Mill and Crampton is quite beautiful, and I have had occasion to show it to her. Now that the weather is starting to turn, Miss Hale and I have decided to, as she said, keep company indoors.” Luck, as it were, appeared to be on her side. For all they had seen eye to eye on precious few occasions since Margaret arrived in Milton, Mr. Thornton was gallant enough to come to her aid. And a passable liar, as well.

Had you given Margaret five minutes and a cup of tea, she could not have thought of a way to continue her previous sentence without ruining either her own conscience or her acquaintanceship with Henry. Mr. Thornton had saved her from either, coming to her rescue with his deep, steady voice - which had the added benefit of turning Henrys gaze from Margaret towards the manufacturer.

Henry was silent for a minute, scrutinizing Mr. Thornton as though, if he only looked hard enough, he would declare it a humorous jape, and leave Henry to pry a truthful answer out of Margaret. She was not entirely convinced that he would not, though she hoped he would keep to his finely crafted statement and not make a liar out of them both. He did not wither under the attention, however, and would likely have been insulted that she had entertained the thought towards such a proud, independent northerner. Instead, he finally places his hat down, and begins to work off his gloves.

“I am to believe that in such a short time you have decided to attend to this northern man? You, who dreaded the thought of such a journey, who longed to stay in Helstone, almost as far away from Milton as is possible in England?” It was easy to see Henrys reluctance regarding the idea, for the stated reasons as much as for personal preference. No one had ever accused Margaret of lacking pride, however, and she would not waver now.

Had Mr. Thornton not said his piece, Margaret may have conceded. Now, with more than herself invested, she would defend what she had voiced as her choice. 

“I think that the north has more to recommend itself than first meets the eye, Henry.” That, at least, was true enough. And, were she pushed, she would have to admit that the next words she spoke were equally true, though she despaired to either say or think them.

“The same could also be said for Mr. Thornton, were he not so handsome.” Then, a rare occurrence. Mr. Thornton, gazing upon her, smiled. She had not lied when she had called him handsome, though she had meant it in a mysterious, churlish, brooding way. Now, the smile on his face, when directed at her, inspired a different notion entirely.

Strangely enough, it made her feel differently than when she saw him smile at the other ladies of his acquaint.

Now was not the time to think on that, however. She brushed the thought aside, as she should have done to the stray thought which had lead to her current situation, and returned her focus to the matter at hand. Henry had relaxed his face from its scrutiny, and it had not yet lapsed back into a scowl, though the deepening creases at the corners of his mouth attributed that as a credit to his will, rather than personal feeling.

“I have yet to see any such features during my time here in Milton, and I find that I doubt that I could find any such recommendations prior to my departure.” Henry finally said, brusquely, attempting to find his usual wit, but he and Margaret were both aware that he had not found it. He had been thrown, clearly, at finding her otherwise engaged. And, she was sure, had he spoken with Edith about the content of their letters, he wouldn’t have thought her to be in possession of positive feeling towards the mill Master.

Margaret herself has found that she is of wavering opinions regarding the man. Every time he appears to her to be ghastly, he speaks or acts in a way which would prove that impression false. Yet, every time she witnesses Mr. Thornton behaving in a gentlemanly manner, he continues on to prove himself reprehensible. Truly, Margaret cannot make heads or tails of him, and is not of a mind to try at present. She must then do as she once counseled one of her friends back in Helstone to do, and reserve judgement.

Hard though it may prove to be when dealing with Mr. Thornton, she must try, at least in light of his help in the current situation.

“I hope your stay in Milton will not be too brief, Mr. Lennox.” Mr. Thorntons tone belies his words, as he takes a few careful, measured steps around the room, stepping past furniture, until he came to stand near Margaret. Closer than would have normally been appropriate for acquaintances such as they are, but acceptable had they truly progressed to the point of courtship which they were claiming. She looked at him, for a few long moments, when he settled by her side. He was staring straight at Henry, expression almost bland except for the slightest upturn of his lips.

Had she to guess, Margaret would classify the look as smug. If Mr. Thornton were to look at her like that, it would likely rile her. It appeared to be having the same effect on Henry, an outcome which only deepened the quirk of his lips into something approaching a half smile. She could not mind the haughty expression in this instance, however, for both it and his performance were proving fortuitous to her plight.

“I will remain for a fortnight hence. As I have said, I have business to attend to in Milton. I will call upon your parents at a later date, Miss Hale.” It appears Margaret should have addressed him formally in order to word her rejection; she would try to remember that in case she had occasion to turn down another offer of marriage. It was highly doubtful, but perhaps it would spare her a repeat of this scene.

“They will be glad to hear it.” Silence, then. It went on a beat too long, before Henry excused himself and fled with as much dignity as he could manage, having twice been rebuffed in his attentions towards her. The outer door of the house slammed with, perhaps, too much force when he left. Neither Margaret nor Mr. Thornton moved until the sound of it echoed through the house. Dixon could be heard talking to herself about the rudeness of Mr. Lennox in slamming the door the way he had.

Mr. Thornton cleared his throat, and stepped back to an appropriate distance, and Margaret could not help but take a step back herself, until they were almost on opposite sides of the room. The silence returned, then, and Margaret could not help but be aware of how long it was dragging on. She could not think of a single thing to say. The entire situation had been bizarre, as had her wilful inclusion of Mr. Thornton in her deception. That, at least, merited an apology from her.

Yet, she could not bring herself to speak, much as she needed to.

“I do hope the blow you suffered has not injured you too greatly, Miss Hale.” He said, finally, after a long while had passed in which they had done nothing but look at each other.

“No, though a touch faint, I feel perfectly well. Though you may disagree, based on what has just transpired.” He inclined his head, acknowledging her point, though his face had lost the serious cast she so often saw. His lips had quirked up once more, not into the arresting smile she had been witness to earlier, but neither was it the mocking, smug thing he had treated Mr. Lennox to.

“I had been wondering, yes. If you would be so inclined, I would appreciate being enlightened as to what just transpired.”

“Of course. I am terribly sorry to have brought you into the matter, though I find I am grateful for your intervention. Without it, I fear I would not have carried the deception off quite so well. Or, at all, really. So, thank you.” Margaret could not help smoothing down the front of her gown, a nervous habit she had never quite broken.

“Feel free to have a seat, Mr. Thornton, and I could ring for some tea, should you like.” She demurred, walking to the settee to lower herself onto, waiting as he rang for Dixon, and then seated himself across from her. She wasn’t sure how to begin, and finally decided she may as well reveal to him the whole of the affair, so that he could form his own opinions of the matter.

“Henry Lennox is the brother-in-law of my dear cousin Edith. I stayed with my Aunt and cousin this past season, prior to her marriage to Captain Lennox. I left at the end of the season, after their marriage, back to Helstone. I was quite pleased with the acquaintances which I had made during my time in London, but was joyful about my return to Helstone. I do so love it there, you understand.” What Margaret understood was that she was speaking too much on a topic that had no relevance to the matter at hand in an attempt to talk around the issue. Mr. Thornton did not appear to mind, but it would be better to get the matter settled.

“I returned to Helstone and enjoyed myself for the weeks we were there, prior to our moving to Milton. I was surprised to find that Mr. Lennox had decided to visit Helstone, for he certainly had no business in the country. I invited him for tea, as is proper, and proceeded to show him the rectory and the church. We approached the church when he asked me for my hand. I was, of course, shocked. Prior to his asking, there had been no attempt to court, or even a statement of intent, you see.” Mr. Thornton had lost the playful quirk to his lips; instead, his face was wholly intent on Margaret, giving her every bit of his not so inconsiderable attention.

“You were, of course, shocked at the sudden attention of a man you had previously only believe to be an acquaintance, perhaps a friend.” He inferred, and Margaret nodded.

“Of course. I had no knowledge of his regard for me until that point. I may have been too blunt with my refusal, but I have discovered that I have no talent for it. I did not mean to sound cruel to him, but surprise, along with my own disinclination towards him in that manner, caused me to be sharper with my tongue than I had intended.” 

“The fault lies in Mr. Lennox, I’m sure, for approaching the matter in such a way.”

“Perhaps. However, it never occurred to me that, in being blunt, I lacked enough conviction and sincerity in my words to tempt a second proposal - especially in so short a time.” Still, that confused her, though it had been at least an hour since Henry had initially spoke to her about it.

“Once again, Miss Hale, I doubt the fault lies with you.” At that, Margaret smiled.

“Why, that’s twice in one afternoon where you’ve recused me from fault, Mr. Thornton. Perhaps you suffered a head injury this afternoon, instead of I.” She managed to smile at him, small though it was, in order to demonstrate that she spoke only in jest. She had found that her humour was often found lacking in Milton, if others found it at all, and had taken to facial cues in order to mitigate any offence given.

Mr. Thornton, thankfully, did not take offence. The line between his brows lessened somewhat, and mirth returned to his stern countenance.

“Indeed, it appears as if you are not the only party afflicted with dizziness this afternoon. Imagine, approaching with an offer of marriage a lady who was unaware of your interest.” His gaze turned unfocused for a moment, before he looked back at her.

“And then, to come here uninvited and attempt to prevail on your good nature, when your father is absent and your mother…” He trailed off, etiquette dictating he avoid the subject of her mother's ailing health, even as his face grew dark with a scowl. She imagined, for a moment, that the scowl was on her behalf at the thought of Henrys presumption, and ignored the subsequent pleasure which the thought brought her. She couldn’t presume to imagine the inner workings of Mr. Thorntons mind, let alone what thoughts bring that look to his face.

“You think my nature good?” Margaret couldn’t help but tease, forgetting for a moment that she was not overly familiar with Mr. Thornton, and that she was still finding her footing in northern conversation. She had not intended to fish for compliments with it, and hoped that he would take it as such.

“Aye, what I’ve seen of your nature commends you. Even if I disagree with your stance on what might be every common interest we have. Surprising how we managed to make it to the point where we walk together through Milton, and keep each others company.” Margaret couldn’t help but laugh, then, the humour taking her off guard, and her laugh louder than it would have been had she been prepared.

“Truly. Though, much as it pains me to admit, there have been times when you have talked even me around to whichever point it is you are making at the time.” She had been drawn into many a lesson between Mr. Thornton and her father over their time in Milton, and he could be a very persuasive speaker, were he passionate about the subject. He looked surprised, now, at the admission.

“I would never had guessed, as you rebut each argument I put forward.” Margaret inclined her head, acknowledging the truth, and Mr. Thornton smiled again. It was a soft thing, softer than she had ever expected to see on his severe face. She noticed, suddenly, that they were having a civil conversation without an intermediary, perhaps the first time they had ever done so. He continued to smile at her for a few moments, and Margaret wondered what her own face was doing in response. She hoped that her lips responded in kind, though with more formality, but she seemed to have lost the ability to twitch even the slightest muscle under his stare.

It was an odd moment, to be sure, broken when Dixon brought in the tea.

She didn’t venture far after delivering the tea, Margaret could hear her in the hall, but she was far enough away she wouldn’t overhear anything, and so Margaret continued her tale from where they’d digressed earlier.

“When Mr. Lennox asked me again today, I was once again shocked. I could not answer different than I had before, yet I cautioned myself against behaving as I had previously, as it did not have the intended effect, nor was it kind. I was rather hoping, when Dixon interrupted, that there would be an urgent matter which needed my help. And when I saw you, well, I am sorry for embroiling you in such a matter.” He waved off the apology, and continued with his tea. Black, Margaret had noticed, without sugar or milk. Had she not seen him lie sweetly for her, or seen his smile, she would’ve said it matched his personality and perpetual mood.

“You thought, I suppose, that a previous engagement, as it were, would impress upon him what your words had failed to do.”

“Yes, exactly.”

“I am glad that I could be of some assistance to you in this manner.” Margaret smiled at him, over her tea cup, before she placed it on its saucer.

“It appears to have worked, though I am sure I’ll never hear the end of our supposed courtship from Edith.” 

“Mr. Lennox did seem rather surprised, though I do not know if it was because of myself in particular, or whether any Milton man would have caused such a perplexed expression to have crossed his countenance.” 

“Perhaps he wondered that you would want a woman such as myself. I am still not suited to Milton society and etiquette, after all, and we disagree on most everything. Such a poor match for you, Mr. Thornton. I have, after all, been reliably informed that you’re a very eligible bachelor.” There was silence, again, and Margaret resolved to never tease Mr. Thornton, or anyone in Milton, ever again.

She was, quite clearly, horrible at it.

“Surely we do not disagree on that much, workers unions and cotton mills aside.” He finally said, quietly, and Margaret wasn’t quite sure how to continue the conversation from that point. She sipped more at her tea to buy some time, before finally offering,

“Would you tell me your views on Plato, Mr Thornton? I have not yet chanced to hear them and, as such, there can be no disagreement.”

“Aye, yet.” He said, and she was sure he was teasing her, this time, so Margaret felt safe in voicing an amused hum in agreement, especially as the sentiment was likely true enough.

\-----

Though John Thornton could not claim to be pleased in any manner about the appearance of one Henry Lennox, he is grateful for the other mans excruciatingly large misstep. He had, with his untimely and unwanted appearance, stopped John from making a similar mistake. Not that John would ever ignore Miss Hales wishes in such a manner, and especially to the extent to which Mr. Lennox had. No, after a nights reflection, John is sure that he would have received the same blunt rejection which Miss Hale had confessed to giving Mr. Lennox in the first instance.

Though John knew of his own regard, and though he had been assured of Miss Hales regard by his mother, the proposal he’d intended would likely have been a shock, given their previous, public disagreements. 

Had Mr. Lennox not been there, John would have made a fool of himself. Unlike the southern man, John intended to learn from past mistakes. It was that, in particular, which had plagued John that morning as he readied himself for the day. He had heard of ladies rejecting the first offer for their hand in order to test the affection of their suitor but, for all they were mere acquaintances, John thought he knew Miss Hale well enough to ascertain that she was not one such lady.

How it was possible to want to marry Miss Hale and not know or understand her character, John wasn’t quite sure. 

Most surprising of all was the ingenious solution Miss Hale had decided upon as an escape to what John understood had been a decidedly uncomfortable encounter. He had never imagined such a scenario - to fake a suit in order to firmly deny another. That Miss Hale had looked at him and decided that his potential suit was both believable and more appealing than Mr. Lennox’s, no matter how false, filled John with hope.

Though he had gone to Crampton the night before intending to ask Miss Hale for her hand in marriage, he now knew it had been a fools journey. Now, however, John had decided on a route which would hopefully prove to be much more fortuitous for the both of them.

He would court Miss Hale in the way a lady of her standing should be courted, so that when he finally asks her acceptance of his suit, she will welcome it. It may be some time before she can see him in such a light, but John is no stranger to waiting or long term planning. One day, Miss Hale will look upon him in the same way he does her.

He resolves to think on it no further until he has a chance to implement his plans. He would resolve to think no more of Miss Hale and focus his attention solely on the mill but, even if his days were as full as they had been prior to the strike, he would be unable to keep from thinking of her.

Johns plan to turn his mind away from Miss Hale and her plot to distance herself from Mr. Lennox lasts no longer than midday. He has left the mill to run an errand, not trusting any of the returning union workers to carry his missives without interference, when he sees Miss Hale. She is besieged, yet again, by the unwanted Mr. Lennox. He appears to have caught her emerging from the stationers, unable to move on without causing a scene.

Had Miss Hale spun a different tale the previous day, there would still be only one option available to him. It is no great hardship to cross the street to them, or call out once he’d come close enough that he needn’t raise his voice.

“Miss Hale,” He started, warming his voice as much as he felt comfortable with in so public a setting, and he had never seen her so relieved to see him. She stepped around Mr. Lennox and was shortly standing at Johns side. The unspoken but obvious preference made him feel a rush of warmth in his chest.

“Mr. Lennox.” His voice was considerably less warm when addressing the Londoner, and the look on the other mans face told John that the slight animosity was not only felt keenly, but reciprocated.

“My apologies for interrupting, but I’m afraid Miss Hale and I have matters to which we need to attend.” Mr. Lennox raised an eyebrow at the assertion, but he did not inquire further. The street was, fortunately, almost empty and so John felt that there would be no harm in offering Miss Hale his arm. Had there been anyone in view but Mr. Lennox, he’s sure she wouldn’t have accepted. The feel of her small hand tucked into the crook of his arm was not a sensation that John would forget.

“Were you headed anywhere in particular before you became besieged by Mr. Lennox?” John asks, once they’re far enough removed from the other man that there is no chance of being overheard.

“I was on my way back home, to write a letter to my cousin. I received her latest correspondence this morning, and then found myself to be out of stationary.” John nods, once, and decides to throw caution to the wind, as much as he’s able.

“Are you particularly needed a home this afternoon, or may I tempt you to Marlborough? I imagine my desk will serve as well as yours, should you need.” He continues to look forward, not daring to watch Miss Hales reaction. As such, he misses the curious way she looks at him, before she too turns her face forward.

“Well, you did just assure Henry, Mr. Lennox, rather, that I had a prior engagement with you that was more pressing than idle, uncomfortable chit chat with him - and I would so hate to make a liar of you, Mr. Thornton.” He looked at her, then, and saw the small, teasing smile on her face at the reference to their shared deception. John couldn’t help but chuckle in response, and briefly pressed his hand to hers, where it rested gently on his arm.

“You, make a liar out of me? Impossible, Miss Hale.” He replied, glad that they could speak to each other so, without snapping or growing angry. The calm likely wouldn’t last, probably not even to the end of the day, considering he was taking her back to the mill, but for now John allowed himself to enjoy it, and the pleasant company of the woman he loved.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, whenever I say something like 'this should be done real soon!' I should immediately correct my self. I intend to, but I just don't. Also, this did not wrap up in one chapter, like I expected. So, one more to go, and no promises as to when it'll be up because I'm house sitting without internet. Also, I saw Fassbenders MacBeth and it was great.

Margaret had thought that, though Henry, that is, Mr. Lennox, would call upon her parents prior to his departure from Milton, she would otherwise be able to avoid him during his stay. Perhaps even have the fortune to be out calling whilst he went through the social niceties with her parents. Though Milton was not an especially large town, as London was, she was confident that both herself and Mr. Lennox would do their utmost to avoid each others company. She would not go as far as crossing the street to avoid him, but she would not stop and make idle conversation with him either.

She had assumed that he felt the same way, and considered the entire matter settled. After all, one span of fourteen days and nights was not so very long, and then he would be back to London. That notion was not entirely changed when, upon leaving the stationers, she saw Mr. Lennox walking past and, instead of continuing on, he stopped and attempted to engage her in conversation. Her belief was shaken a bit, but Margaret thought that, perhaps, he was attempting to be polite, to show that there were no hard feelings about the refusal. After this meeting, surely, she would not see him for the rest of his stay.

“Miss Margaret,” He began and, only two words in, Margaret could already feel the strain on the conversation. There were slightly too long silences in between apparently carefully thought out words, and Margaret wished she were back inside the stationers. Thankfully, she suffered through barely a handful of Henry's words before Mr. Thornton appeared, as if he had an instinctive knowledge for when she was in need of rescuing from Henry. As they made their quick farewells to Henry - or should she call him Mr. Lennox once more, though he still persisted in using her christian name? - Margaret rather thought that, had Mr. Thornton known her back in Helstone, he would have somehow saved her from that first, wretched proposal.

A silly thought to have, to be sure, but something about how easily Mr. Thornton had extricated her from Mr. Lennox’s presence was making her feel rather more light hearted and, well, silly, than she normally felt. The mill is a hive of activity when they arrive, as noisy as the first time she set foot in it, rather than the quiet of the strikes. In order to keep her light mood, and continue the companionable feeling which had enveloped them once more after their shared duplicity, Margaret decided that she would not talk about the Mill or the workers or the unions whilst she was there.

Unless, of course, Mr. Thornton brought it up first. Already knowing of her opinion, should he breach the topic Margaret will not hesitate to argue her position.

Mr. Thornton gives her leave to use his desk, and she does so, whilst he moves around his office. He even leaves her, for a time, to tend to the mill personally. She’s finished her letter to Edith by the time he returns, and finds her instead gazing out the window. Margaret’s not looking at anything in particular, not wanting to focus on any one particular aspect of the mill, lest it raise her ire. Instead she thinks of her mother's ailing health, of the black sadness that weighs her down whenever she thinks of Frederick. If only Fred could come, even if only for a moment, she knows it would ease her poor mother's heart.

“Finished your letters, Miss Hale?” He asks, quietly, startling her from her reverie. She’d been so lost in thought, Mr. Thornton could have stood there for long minutes before she’d noticed him.

“Yes, I have. I shall post it on my way home.” There’s silence for a moment.

“I should return, before I am away too long for the specified stationers trip and worry Mother.”

“Indeed. Would you like me to accompany you back to Crampton?”

“Just to the door, I think, Mr. Thornton. I wouldn’t want to keep you from business.” Margaret gathers her things back into her wicker basket, placing it on her arm before rounding the desk.

“Of course.” He accompanies her past the door of his office, and then past the door of the building, until they’re at the gates of Marlborough. They stand in silence, for they truly do not have a dearth of topics at hand if they wish to keep civil with each other. After a beat too long has passed in silence, Margaret thinks of something that will hopefully allow them to part amicably.

“For a moment, I thought you intended to see me to _my_ door.” She teases, pleased to see that she has done it in a manner that the people of Milton accept, for his lips curl at the edges.

“Would that you asked.” He teases back, and Margaret cannot believe it. Not only have they had two civil conversations in the same amount of days, but now the illustrious mill owner is teasing her back. Truly, her father will be proud of their progress. Mr. Thornton is his favourite student, after all, and he shall be well pleased by the sudden change in their demeanours towards one another. They’ve gone so fast from anger and enmity to friendly and companionable that they could very well be in love inside a week. Margaret can feel herself growing a tad pink at that thought, and casts her mind away. It was a silly thought, one she should endeavour to not think of again.

“I do believe this is the second amicable conversation we’ve had, Mr. Thornton. Perhaps we shall make a trend of it.” He smiles down at her, and Margaret had thought maybe it had been the lingering head injury which had made his smile light his face in such an arresting way. Not so, as it turns out.

“Perhaps we shall, Miss Hale.”

-

There was an invitation to a party, to be held in the ballroom of the local hotel, with dinner in the reception, courtesy of Mr. Bell. Margaret is not excited, but she isn’t displeased, either. She’ll be attending with Father, whilst Mother stays home with Dixon attending her. It is a shame that she’s to sick to attend, for, as Margaret finds when she arrives, she would have liked the experience of a northern season. All the ladies are dressed beautifully - beautifully for the north, that is - and they all look wonderfully happy. A few swan about the room, while most have chosen partners and are dancing most competently.

Something Margaret didn’t anticipate was the appearance of Mr. Henry Lennox.

She feels foolish, for not having thought of it. Clearly it was pure naievity to think that she could politely avoid him for the duration of his stay in Milton. Margaret spots him a few moments after she walks in on her Father's arm, standing across the room talking to some men she vaguely recognises as some of Milton's businessmen, a few of them mill owners. It’s then she realises that there is no possible way she could intrude on Mr. Thornton to the extent of asking him to extend the charade of their courtship into the realm of the public eye.

No, that would be intruding on his good nature to a degree Margaret wasn’t comfortable with in the least. Especially considering that, until very recently, she may have disputed his possession of such a nature.

It would be uncomfortable when Mr. Lennox discovered that he had been duped, which he surely would soon if he had not already, but one must pay penance for the wrongs they commit. It was only a matter of time before he mentioned Mr. Thornton or herself in conversation, and then the truth would be revealed. Although, perhaps there would be a silver lining to the approaching black storm cloud - Mr. Lennox might be outraged and embarrassed enough to avoid her completely for the rest of his time in Milton.

A horrid thought to have, to be sure, but Margaret cannot be sorry for having it.

She unwinds her arm from her Father's, leaving him to be absorbed by one of the many groups of talking men, and set of on a slow turn about the room. Only a few steps have been taken before Mr. Thornton comes into her line of sight, and makes his way towards her. It’s pleasing, watching his proud form walking straight to her without anger clouding his features.

“Mr. Thornton, I was just thinking about you.”

“Miss Hale, I confess I was thinking of you, also.” Likely his mind was on similar subjects, so it shouldn’t make her feel so giddy to hear so. And yet, she cannot help but shift forward slightly, testing the bounds of propriety, as though she intended to continue the ruse which has engendered such friendly greetings towards each other.

“How have you been since I last saw you?” It’s been a few days since she left him at the mill, and Margaret has found herself mostly occupied by her mother, and thoughts of her brother. She cannot regret sending the letter as she did, but the thought of his capture due to her intervention weighs heavily on her. The few moments her mind has not been occupied by such things, however, she’s found her thoughts turning towards Mr. Thornton.

At how at home he’d looked, in his office. Leaning against the window sill behind the desk as he read through papers. Margaret could have easily written her letters against a book in her lap, or returned home to write, as she’d suggested when it became clear Mr. Thornton had work to do and she was delaying him. The stubborn man had insisted, however, that she work at the desk, assuring her that he could read in much more unfortunate positions than against a well lit window sill.

Perhaps thought too much about the way he’d tugged on his jacket, and his cravat, as if he was unused to keeping them on once he reached his personal office. It was at that point, before she could start to wonder what he looked like without a jacket and cravat, that Margaret made sure to turn her thoughts to other things. _Any_ other things. She’d entertained a half hour conversation with the grocer about fresh produce, when her mind had wandered while shopping.

“Well, thank you. And yourself?”

“Well, thank you.” A slight pause in conversation, and his lips quirk up in a manner Margaret is slowly coming to realise means he’s about to jest or, more likely, tease her.

“Well then.” Margaret cannot help the way her own lips quirk up.

“Well,” She says, and his eyes crinkle in amusement, “shall we move on to other matters? There is something I wish to discuss with you.”

“Certainly. Likely the same thing I wanted to speak to you about. There is a small balcony, off to the side, if you wished to speak in private.” She very much did. It would be bad enough that Mr. Lennox, and therefore Edith and her Aunt, and then her parents would find out, let alone everyone who’s anyone in Milton enjoying her embarrassment. He offers her his arm, and Margaret takes it carefully.

The balcony is empty, but they continue to walk until they are the farthest they can get from the party. Hopefully, their distance would dissuade any eavesdropping. Or, at least, they’d see any eavesdroppers approaching.

“About our…” Margaret trails off, unsure how to politely phrase their situation, when there’s even the slightest chance of being overheard. Although, even were they alone, she would still struggle to find the right words - as she’s done so often since arriving in Milton.

“Yes?”

“I wish to thank you for your help, but I cannot in good conscience continue the charade.”

“Why is that, Miss Hale?” The smile has left his face, and Margaret mourns its loss as surely as she’ll mourn the loss of whatever good opinion he’s gained of her in their past few days of acquaint, once they inevitably return to bickering and butting heads. Before, she would have assumed that he asked the question simply to make her confess to her wrong doings, but now Margaret simply answers the question. What leaps and bounds they’ve made, good work sure to be undone without a common cause.

“To continue would be to give all here the impression that we’re courting - a false impression, I need not remind you - which will surely have large repercussions in your life. Your being troubled by my inability to properly turn down a suitor is not at all what I desire.”

“I appreciate the concern, Miss Hale, truly. It speaks well of your character.” He smiles at her, that soft smile again, that she had seen in the parlour, when this whole mess started.

“Only, if you’ll allow it, I would like to continue the impression. There are two reasons for this. Firstly, it would allow me to evade attention from certain ladies of our mutual acquaint. Lovely thought they are, I do not wish to pursue them and, similar to yourself, have no desire to do them harm by outright disinterest.” That was a fair enough reason. That Margaret likes the reason, likes that he has no interest in courting any of Milton's high society, is a point that has no relevance. One or two of such ladies, and some gentlemen, are slowly starting to trickle through the open balcony doors. Margaret can practically feel the weight of their eyes.

“Second,” He continues, lips quirking in a small, rakish grin, “I have taken a disliking to Mr. Lennox, and to continue to vex him this way amuses me.” Margaret cannot help the way her mouth drops open in shock.

“You wicked man!” She means to accuse him, but instead she laughs while speaking, giving an entirely different effect.

“Ah, you have found me out, Miss Hale. However is our relationship going to continue?” His voice is likely loud enough for the ever encroaching party guests to overhear, now, and Margaret is well aware of it. At least she has his explicit permission. She sets a hand on his forearm, and tries to match his rakish smile with one of her own.

“Well, wickedly of course.” His laughter seems pulled straight from the bottom of his chest, so deep and booming and pleasing it is. They return to the party soon after, and promenade around the room. If they walk past Mr. Lennox more than may be necessary, Margaret doesn’t say a thing, though she’s sure the mischief in his eyes is reflected in hers.

At dinner, she’s surprised to see that she’s been seated between her father and Mr. Thornton. As far as most people are aware, they’ve only been civil to each other since the start of the party, or perhaps her visit to the mill a few days past. Certainly not long enough for anyone to seat them side by side and risk having a lovely party ruined by what once would have been an unavoidable fight.

Mr. Bell grins at her, from where he’s seated at the head of the table, only a few seats away. Margaret thinks that, perhaps, this once, she can go without knowing why something has happened.

Especially since the older man's grin only gets wider every time he looks at Mr. Thornton and herself, getting along marvellously.

-

Predictably, one of the first things Father says to Mother upon their return home is,

“Mr. Thornton paid our dear Margaret special attention tonight. Why, I don’t think I saw him more than a few steps away from you all night.” Margaret feels like that’s an exaggeration, but doesn’t argue the point.

Her Mother is quite delighted, and makes Margaret recount every part of her evening, in as much detail as possible. There are some slight exclusions made, but apart from what was said on the balcony, Margaret does her best to comply. It’s the most energetic she’s seen her Mother for a long while, and she goes to bed feeling like the whole night was a roaring success.

She thinks of it slightly differently the next day when she realises that news of her and Mr. Thorntons new, close 'friendship’ is the main fodder for gossip. Enough so that, when she arrives to speak with Nicholas, and keep him company during the day, to keep his spirits dropping from lack of work while Mary’s out, she’s greeted with a raised eyebrow.

“Finally seeing the appeal of Northern charm, eh?” He asks, at the door, but lets her in nonetheless. Margaret is a tad embarrassed, and wishes she’d discussed with Mr. Thornton about who they would tell the truth to. She had not told her parents the truth, not wanting to ruin her mother's good cheer about the party, but surely it would not hurt, to tell Nicholas. He would not pass on something told to him in confidence, and it would be nice to talk the entire situation through with someone not directly involved. Thus decided, she does exactly that.

When she’s finished, he’s silent for a minute or two. Then he laughs, with an exuberance that Margaret has only seen once or twice before, prior to Bessie passing.

“Ah, lass, that’s quite the week you’ve had.” Margaret agrees. And it hasn’t even been a full week. Eight days, nine if you include the current, until Mr. Lennox leaves Milton, until they can give up the ruse.

“How are you fairing? The pair of you’ve never seen eye to eye, after all.” Margaret hopes that the slight flush of her cheeks isn’t visible.

“Mr. Thornton is not so bad, so long as we don’t broach subjects we’re known to disagree on.”

“So you don’t do much talking, is what you’re saying.” The older man looks very, very amused. Margaret shakes her head, smiling.

“We have found some subjects upon which we agree.”

“I’m sure you have.” Nicholas’ glee at the situation seems to grow with every passing minute. Not quite the response that she’d anticipated, but better than any of the numerous, negative reactions he could have had.

“So, you’re friendly with each other now?” He asks, and Margaret thinks for a moment.

“Yes, that’s a good way to describe it. Not quite friends, but we are friendly.” The union leader leans forward over the table, still smiling.

“I’m definitely going to say I told you so.” He promises her, and Margaret raises an eyebrow.

“But you haven’t told me anything.”

“You’ll understand, eventually. Hopefully.” A puzzling remark, but he won’t elaborate, no matter how many times she asks so, after a while, they turn the conversation to other matters.

-

Marlborough Mill is the same as always, and Margaret wonders, for the hundredth time since she left Nicholas and Marys home, why she’s heading that way, instead of back to Crampton. A mystery, truly. She’d thought that, maybe, realisation would dawn once she saw the mill - it was not to be, however, and understanding as to why she’s walked so far out of her way for no reason remains elusive.

It would look rather silly if she turned and went home without stepping inside, after standing in front of it so obviously, so Margaret walks through the gates. Perhaps she could be here to see Mr. Thornton. They’re supposedly courting, after all, so it is no odd thing. In fact, Margaret assures herself, it would erode the credibility of the entire lie, were she to go for days without seeing him. Not that it has been days, having attended the party just the night before, but this way Margaret has more leeway if she gets suddenly busy within the next few days.

She nods at the workers she sees, who acknowledge her in return, before entering the building she knows the office to be in. It takes no more than a few minutes before she’s arrived at the closed office door. There’s still time to turn around and head home, she thinks for a moment, before knocking on the door anyway. Coming this far and turning around really would be the height of ludicrousness. And no doubt Mr. Thornton would discover that she’d visited the mill and not seen him, and would be curious as to a reason why. Then she’d have to confess that she’d not even intended to go to the mill, she’d just suddenly realised she was walking that way. How embarrassing that would be.

“Enter.” He sounds distracted, so Margaret will be quick. It would be impolite to keep him, especially on such a trivial matter. Well, she would imagine a trivial matter which could have brought her shortly. Societal convention would give her a few moments to compose herself, and think of an excuse. There’s no time to think of one, though, for after opening the door, barely two steps are taken before she’s stunned into immobility.

As it turns out, Margaret had been correct in assuming Mr. Thornton prefers to shed his coat and cravat within the confines of his own office. Though surely it would be polite to avert her eyes until he made himself presentable, Margaret cannot seem to draw her eyes away from his shockingly bare throat. His sleeve cuffs are loose, as well - perhaps, had she waited for Mary to arrive home from work, he would have had them rolled up to his elbows.

The thought - the entire scene in front of her - makes Margaret feel flushed and warm.

“Yes, what is i-” He finally looks up from his ledgers, looking as shocked to see her as Margaret is to see his state of dishevelment.

“I- Miss Hale!” He picks his cravat up from a corner of his desk, and hastily covers his neck. It is not done as neatly as it usually is, and there’s more skin on show than there should be. Margaret decides not to inform him, for reasons she’ll likely have to discuss in confession, later. Mr. Thornton re-buttons his cuffs as he stands, pulling his braces over his shoulders as he rounds the desk.

Margaret hadn’t even noticed their lack, so distracted she’d been, and feels a completely inappropriate pang of disappointment.

“I was not expecting to see you today.” Mr. Thornton looks as off balance as Margaret feels.

“No, I just… had something to discuss with you.” Desperate, she tries to think of anything pressing that would have her seek him out, and finds that her wit has deserted her at the sight of Mr. Thornton as she had just seen him.

“Certainly, what is it that you wished to speak of?”

“I… I cannot quite remember, so it must not have been too important.” Or it could have been imaginary, but Mr. Thornton will never know the difference, so it is but a small, white lie. He blinks at her, cheeks pinking slightly, before he moves to lean against his desk.

“I’m sure you’ll remember it, given time.” Unlikely, but it’s nice of him to try. Mr. Thornton is, she’s been discovering, unexpectedly nice. A truth distinctly at odds with her first impression of him, but she’s come to see it as a truth regardless. Nice, but harsh. A study in opposites, this Mr. Thornton has turned out to be.

The silence that develops in the wake of his voice is actually quite comfortable, and they stand there, doing nothing, for longer than is likely acceptable.

“Please, sit, Miss Hale, I’m being a terrible host.” Margaret means to say, ‘ _no, I must return home_.’ What she actually says, is,

“I’m being a terrible guest, arriving unannounced.” And takes the seat he gestures at, the one in front of the desk. Mr. Thornton returns to his seat behind the desk, and they make small talk for a while, until he has to return to his business. Instead of seeing her out, however, he gestures to the bookshelf, and invites her to read at her leisure.

She stays far past what is appropriate without a chaperone, so long the sun is setting, and Mr. Thornton has to walk her home. The walk is lovely, the company pleasant.

Watching him walk away after seeing her safely inside is, oddly, disappointing.

 

Of course, then she discovers that Fred has come, and she forgets about Mr. Thornton entirely.

Or, almost.

-

That night, Margaret dreams of the pale skin of Mr. Thorntons throat, and his handsome face and breathtaking smile; it seems to have merged with the tales Fred told about his secretive sea journey from the continent, until Mr. Thornton was a dashing pirate, striding across wooden decks with as much surety as he does the floors of the mill, staring straight at her as he crosses the decks. When Margaret wakes up, his christian name is on her lips, and her pulse is racing.

She tries to put the dream out of her mind and focus on her family, but Fred knows she’s distracted almost from the moment she bids him good morning.

“So,” He asks, mid morning, cornering her in the kitchen after she arrives back home, “what’s gotten you in such a state?” Fred _should_ be with mother, making her laugh and catching her up on everything that’s happened, and instead he’s talking to her. And he’s clearly been laying in wait for her, as well.

“Nothing, I’m not in a state.” He grins at her, the same grin which he’s used to talk her into things since they were children.

“Really? So it’s not this Mr. Thornton I’ve been hearing about?” Margaret shoots him a look.

“Of course not. That’s preposterous.” Fred looks like he wants to laugh.

“Ah, finally we’ve found something where I’m more knowledgeable and mature than you, Maggie.” His smile softens, then.

“Have I told you about the girl I’ve met?” He hasn’t, not yet, but he’s interrupted from doing so now by a knock at the door. She’s sure the wide eyed look of panic on his face is mirrored in hers.

“Stay in that corner, Fred, and don’t make a noise. I’ll send whoever it is away, and you are not to even move until I tell you to alright?” Margaret hisses at him, not willing to chance even the slightest murmur reaching whoever is at the door. He nods his assent, moving into the corner she’d pointed at. It’s almost impossible to see that corner unless you’re already in the kitchen and, Margaret swears, she will not let anyone into the foyer, let alone the kitchen.

It’s Mr. Thornton, at the door, and Margaret decides that perhaps she can chance letting him into the foyer. It would not do to break all of their recent olive branches by now extending a rudeness which she would not be able to explain.

“I hope this morning finds you well, Miss Hale.”

“And you, Mr. Thornton.” She smiles amiably at him, which he returns, removing his hat and holding it in his hands.

“I dropped by, hoping that I could extend and invitation for lunch. At Marlborough. To you.” He pauses for a second, then adds, “And your family, of course. All of you. For lunch. Today, if that suits, else I’m sure we could decide upon another day. I should have asked you yesterday, but it slipped my mind.” There’s a half second where she forgets that Fred’s hiding in the next room, in the face of Mr. Thorntons stilted invitation. She promptly remembers, however, and would agree to most anything would it remove him from the foyer and back to Marlborough where he would have no chance to discover Fred. She’s not unaware of his position as magistrate, after all.

“Mother isn’t faring too well today, and I doubt Father will want to venture far from her side. I am free, though, if the offer stands for just myself.” Luckily the vision of Mr. Thornton as he was when she first saw him yesterday does not rise up to tie her tongue, and she’s able to lie passably to him. She would feel worse about it if she was doing it for reasons other than Fred.

“Yes, yes. Of course.”

“I will see you at Marlborough at lunch time, then.” She says, only to prompt him to move towards the door. He starts to move towards it, albeit slowly.

“Yes.” He replies. He turns and walks the few short steps to the door, before turning to look at her once more.

“Have a good morning, Miss Hale.”

“You as well. Until lunch, Mr. Thornton.” Then he’s walking down the steps, and down the street, and Margaret can close the door. And she does, after a few moments of watching him stride away - confident and purposeful, just like in her dream. That’s when she closes the door, hoping to shut her thoughts away as easily as she’s able to shut the world out.

Fred’s leaning against the kitchen door when she turns around, and she doesn’t even get to scold him about moving before she said, about what could’ve happened if someone had seen him. Instead, he’s got a smirk on his face, which makes her very wary.

“Yes, Maggie, that was definitely nothing. So much nothing, that I’m sure you won’t mind if I go and tell Mother everything that just happened.” And then he’s bounding up the stairs, Margaret following as quick as she’s able, even though it was nothing more than an invitation to lunch. Fred will probably make it sound like Mr. Thornton proposed. She’s not shouting after him, nothing so uncouth, but she’s certainly talking very loudly at his back about how much of a scoundrel he is.

As it turns out, Margaret is very happy to leave for lunch, just so she can get away from her brothers mischievous teasing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: replied to a review because I was super confident that I’d have the next (this) chapter up soon. Also me: was a fool. And thank you all for your continued reading of this fic, even though it's been a shameful amount of time (2 YEARS WHAT THE FUCK WHAT EVEN IS TIME HOLY SHIT) since it was updated. With every review I got, I worked more on this chapter, which is finally ready for unveiling.
> 
> I have literally no reason as to why this has taken me so long. But rest assured, friends, that I am just as flaky and inconsistent in real life. This chapter could also be titled ‘Wherein the author realises that they’ve gotten events out of order, and proceeds regardless.’ Meaning, some events will be notably out of order, so if and/or when you notice them and realise that they should have already happened by this time, or have not yet happened or what have you, chalk it up to artistic license and leave my poor, shameful memory out of it.

_ Lunch _ , Margaret tells herself as she sits at the respectably sized table inside the Thornton’s private dining room, with all three Thornton’s looking at her, and only one looking pleased at her presence,  _ it is only lunch _ . She has had lunch thousands of times in her life, and she’s quite often dined in the company of others, so she has no call to be as nervous as she is.

She has already thanked Mrs. Thornton for hosting her, and exchanged what seemed like all the small talk under the sun with both her and Fanny whilst they waited in the parlour. As such, she can now think of no safe, lunch appropriate topics to engage them in. Had she done something in the past few days which did not involve her ailing mother, her wanted brother, or the peculiar situation she had found herself in with Mr. Thornton, the dearth of conversational material might not have been so severe.

Margaret has never before found the soft sound of cutlery against china to be awkward.

“Miss Hale,” Mr. Thornton’s deep voice pulls her from her most impolite reverie, and she cannot help but look at him - manners dictate she must, of course, but she’s been trying her hardest to avoid staring at him. She had noticed, immediately upon her arrival, that he’d changed from the clothes he’d been wearing when he had come to her door. As a result, her eyes had lingered upon him for long moments, past the point of propriety. Her reply to Mrs. Thornton had then been a beat too late for polite conversation. Were the world a kinder place, her slip would have gone unnoticed.

Unfortunately, she is certain that all parties present had noticed her distraction. The only hope she has now is that Mr. Thornton did not notice  _ what _ caused such a thing. Margaret has no hope that the reason escaped Mrs. Thornton’s notice. Regardless of the many impreciations which have been labelled against her - Margaret distinctly recalls an occasion where the word  _ dragon  _ had escaped her own mouth - the older woman was sharp of mind as well as tongue. 

Margaret herself feels like her tongue is slightly too heavy for her usual quick wit, and has been since the unfortunate event of Mr. Thornton’s arrival. There was not even anything particularly wrong with his appearance, except for the fact that the sight of him raised Margaret’s heartbeat in a particular manner. Since that moment, Mrs. Thornton has held a peculiar look on her face, one which Margaret is hesitant to name. Were she to try, she would say that it is, perhaps, knowing - though what she knows, Margaret has not the faintest idea. Moreover, Margaret would say that Mrs. Thornton looks displeased.

The feeling such an expression engenders within Margaret is that of being found wanting by a particularly wide margin. It is not a feeling that the young woman is fond of. 

“Have you yet come across  _ On the Law Which has Regulated the Introduction of Species _ ? It is a new paper, published in volume sixteen of Annals and Magazine of Natural History. I was hoping we could discuss it next lesson. -Your father and I, I mean. Not that I do not wish to discuss it with you also, Miss Hale.”

“I cannot recall reading such a paper, Mr. Thornton. Similarly, I rather think that its publication has escaped my father’s notice, though he will likely be enthusiastic in discussing it with you, once he reads it.” Mr. Thornton nods, seemingly content to return to the silence which Margaret had found so disquieting a few moments before.

“Would you enlighten me as to the contents of the paper? Is it a rebuttal of a previous work, or the formation of a new idea?” The corners of Mr. Thornton’s mouth curve upwards in a small smile, swiftly hidden as he opens his mouth to answer her. Regardless of how fleeting the expression, or perhaps because of it, Margaret does her best to fix the smile in her memory. For brief moments, moments which were increasing in frequence, Mr. Thornton seems to transform almost entirely. It is as if, for precious seconds, the normally severe man is washed away, leaving only - well, Margaret would not go as far as to say that the man she glimpses is his most private self. But, perhaps.

Each time, the transformation of his face, of her view of him, steals her breath. Arrests her in a way which is entirely inappropriate. In a way that she, shamefully, wishes for more of. 

“Certainly. The subject matter delves into organic geography and geology for the bases of the hypothesis. That is, the author, one A. R. Wallace, proposes that every species has come into existence coincident both in space and time with a pre-existing closely allied species.” Mr. Thornton catches her eyes as he talks, and continues to look at her with his piercing gaze as she contemplates the subject matter. She has had such practice debating with him, that such a look reassures her rather than unnerves her. 

“An interesting proposition, if I understand correctly. I would have to read the paper before I was able to form a stance either for or against such a notion, of course, but the idea is intriguing.” 

“Of course, Miss Hale. To do otherwise would be ill considered, and lead to an unsound basis for argument, either for or against.” Under his dark eyes, an idea sparks in Margaret’s head, a tease which she should certainly ignore. There is, as she has been made painfully aware, a difference between the banter she is accustomed to, and that which amuses these northerners. Were she to vex Mr. Thornton as his personally invited guest, with his mother and sister to witness her ingratitude, it would mortify her.

“You shall have to inform me as to where you stand on the issue before we debate it, Mr. Thornton.” Margaret says, regardless of the certainty that she has embarked upon a course that will end in regret. With those dark eyes watching her so intently, and with the knowledge of mischief shared between them, she throws caution to the wind.

“Why is that, Miss Hale?” He asks, curious and amused. From the corner of her eye, she can see Fanny scrunch her face up. Margaret can understand her confusion, at such an odd request. Obviously they will state their positions prior to a debate, how else would a debate commence?

“If you do not declare yourself, we might end up arguing from the same position.” She informs him, to his thankfully growing amusement. 

“That would be a rare event, Miss Hale. Did you wish for forewarning, in order to alert the papers?” He quips at her. She feels her lips turn upwards, enjoying his participation in their banter. His is a sharp wit and she has been cut upon it several times before. In this, it matches her own, for she is sure that he has been stung by her own tongue multiple times in their acquaint. Some, regretfully, have been accidental. She hopes that this will not another such time.

“No, Mr. Thornton. I merely wished to know so that I have ample time to change my own position to one which opposes yours. Otherwise we might go an entire lesson without arguing.”

“I can barely imagine such a thing.” He informs her, amusement writ in the small lines around his mouth, and the creases of his eyes. She’s glad, else she surely would have perished from the ignominy of having affronted her host in such a straightforward manner.

“How dull such a lesson would be.” She says, cutting into the last portion of her lunch. Her eyes flicker down to her plate for a moment, and when she glances back towards him, much of the amusement has faded from his face. Once more his gaze bores into her, almost pinning her in place so that she can do nothing but return his intent stare.

“I can think of nothing more pleasurable than an evening spent debating with you, Miss Hale.” He says, with a sincerity that has Margaret feeling short of breath. It feels as though his words carry a weight, a meaning, which she must respond to - even if she is not certain what it is that he means by saying such a thing. For long moments she can think of nothing, mind terribly blank as she reaches for a reply that would conceal the visceral sensations she had experienced in reaction to his words.

“Likewise, Mr. Thornton.” Her voice is a shade quieter than it had been previously, in deference to the way her mouth had gone dry. It is not the response she had wished to deliver, none of her usual wit contained within. But it was sincere in a way that Margaret attempted to both refuse and justify to herself within the same thought. Whatever it was she meant by her statement, whatever it was that he meant by his, now was not the time to contemplate it.

She could feel Mrs. Thornton’s gaze upon her like a physical touch, watching Margaret’s interaction with her son with an intensity that was alike and yet wholly different from his. Margaret continues to look at Mr. Thornton, and he continues to look at her, each silent second birthing another butterfly within her stomach.

“Well  _ I _ can think of any number of things better than an evening spent talking about dull things like  _ science _ .” The moment is broken by Fanny Thornton, and Margaret takes the chance to look away from Mr. Thornton for longer than a few seconds. Long enough to regain composure, hopefully.

“Is that so, Fanny?” Mr. Thornton says, and there is the greatest temptation to look at him once more. Instead, Margaret picks up her tea cup and looks at Fanny with all the enthusiasm which she can muster. The younger woman delicately places her cutlery down, plate empty, and tilts her head up in an imperious manner, clearly all too pleased to be the centre of attention. 

“Yes, John.” She condescends to him, and though she is not watching Mr. Thornton, what little she can see of his face in her peripheral vision showcases both indulgence and annoyance. Since Fred had arrived at their door, Margaret has become quickly reacquainted with such a mixture of emotions, though worry also threads its way deeply through her chest whenever she looks at her own sibling.

“Are you not intrigued by the leaps which modern science has achieved, Miss Thornton?” Margaret asks, and Fanny’s delicate nose wrinkles ever so slightly whilst she shakes her head.

“Certainly not, Miss Hale! I would much rather talk about people and places.” She informs them all, and it is a fact which comes as a surprise to none of them. That Fanny Thornton turns her nose up at the intellectual is something Margaret could have, and did, surmise upon their first meeting. That stilted, uncomfortable first meeting had likely not been improved by Margaret's immediate and unfavourable private judgement of Miss Thornton. Currently, Margaret finds herself appreciative of the factors which caused this distaste, for without it she would likely still be staring at Mr. Thornton. Sometimes, Margaret feels as though all her manners flee as soon as she sets eyes upon him, leaving her with no recourse but to stare at him like a dullard, mind and mouth silent in the wake of his smile.

“I recall you being interested in visiting London?”

“Sometimes I feel it is all she speaks of.” Mrs. Thornton says, tone reproving.

“Were I able to travel there, it would not be.” She replies, tone sharp. Mrs. Thornton raises one, regal eyebrow in admonishment, and Fanny subsides, with a sour twist to her mouth. Margaret finds that she can relate to Fanny, in this one instance. Not to visit London, for all that she had enjoyed her time there, but to leave Milton. Though she no longer viewed the town in the same horrified manner which she had upon arrival, it was still a far cry from her beloved Helstone. Margaret cannot imagine having lived, having experienced, no place other than the drab, grey world of Milton.

“I recently received a letter from my cousin Edith, inviting me to accompany her to the Great Exhibition, in London. I am sure it would not be an imposition, were you to attend with me, Miss Thornton.” She offers, even though Margaret cannot imagine spending the amount of time which a trip to London would take, in an enclosed space with Miss Fanny Thornton. The younger woman’s face is overcome by excitement, and Margaret is glad to have made the offer, even with her slight misgivings.

Margaret thinks of the one major complication in the exact moment that Fanny turns to face her mother. They both look at the stern countenance of the widow, who says nothing for long moments. Fanny does not beg or plead as Margaret would have anticipated; perhaps it would be different, if Margaret did not sit at their table as an interloper. Were it just the three Thornton’s, Fanny may have attempted to cajole her mother into acquiescence. As it was, she simply stared at her mother with a resolute look on her face.

“John.” Mrs. Thornton looks away from her daughter, towards her son. Margaret turns to look at him, also. It is no hardship. He returns his mother’s gaze, eyes slightly narrowed as though attempting to solve a puzzle.

“You were interested in attending the Great Exhibition, were you not?” Mr. Thornton’s eyes narrow further, and after a moment he answers that he had been contemplating it.

“I wouldn’t feel comfortable with my Fanny going to London with only yourself for protection, no offence intended Miss Hale.” The woman says, blunt as Margaret has learnt most northern women prefer to be.

“However, were she to be accompanied by both Miss Hale and  _ you _ , John, I would be able to find no fault in her company, nor any overt risk to her person.” Fanny looks to her brother, face shifting into a pleading visage that Margaret knows well. Each person on earth, if in possession of a sibling, has worn such a look upon their face at least once. In the day or so since Fred has returned to her life, Margaret has found that any resistance she once had to such a look has vanished.

Mr. Thornton, it appears, is no better at resisting such a look than she is.

“That would be acceptable.” He says, and Fanny grins, immediately beginning to talk about their upcoming journey. She puts forth no useful suggestions, such as travel plans or dates and times. Instead, she discusses the dresses she will need to pack, and their matching ribbons and bonnets. Margaret can understand the need to look well presented, but never has it been her first thought upon learning of an upcoming trip. She has, all her life, been entirely too sensible for such frivolous thoughts. Thankfully, Franny does not appear to need any verbal encouragement in her discussion, content to talk at those seated, rather than to them.

Mrs. Thornton and Mr. Thornton, similarly, are allowing Fanny to chat unaided, Mrs. Thornton paying only the barest attention to her daughter, sipping at the last of her wine. Margaret looks across the table, towards Mr. Thornton.

He is looking back at her, once more. 

He smiles, once more.

Margaret feels her heart thud heavily in her chest and comes to a startling, unexpected realisation about Mr. John Thornton and her feelings regarding him.

-

“You will have to tell me all that you see, when you return home.” Her mother says, and Margaret pauses, staring at the books in front of her as Frederick echoes her sentiment. All thoughts of organisation and alphabetising are pushed from her head, as are the thoughts which had plagued her all afternoon, since her walk home to Crampton. Her mind had been preoccupied with thoughts of spending the long train ride to London in a small carriage with Mr. Thornton. Briefly, she had thought of what she would write to Edith, alerting her to their companions for the Great Exhibition.

She had not, until her mother’s words, considered that travelling to London means leaving her mother. And Frederick, though she does have some faith that he is sensible enough - well, she has faith that Dixon is sensible enough to prevent his discovery, at any rate.

“I cannot possibly go to London.” She says, aghast, turning to face her brother and mother, and Dixon, who is by her mother’s side as always.

“Whyever not, Miss Margaret?” Dixon asks, bustling about as she does.

“Yes, why not Maggie?” Fred asks, blinking owlishly up at her from where he is seated, half finished letter in his lap. He had been writing when she had arrived, sprawled in front of the desk, likely writing to his sweetheart he could barely stop talking about. He had paused when she had begun to regail their mother with her recount of lunch, and the upcoming trip.

Margaret looks between Dixon and Frederick, sure that her eyes say exactly what her tongue will not, not with her mother seated between them both.  _ How could she possibly remove herself to London, even for a short few days, when her beloved mother was so ill _ ? 

“Oh Margaret,” Her mother’s soft voice draws her attention, “you will have to travel to London. Not only because you have already promised Miss and Mr. Thornton, but so that you can tell me all the wonderful things you see. I already await the tales of what wonders are hidden away within that  _ magnificent _ crystal palace.” That they had not been able to visit the exhibition whilst they were in London for cousin Edith’s wedding had, indeed, been a great disappointment to her mother. A frail hand reaches towards Margaret, and she obligingly moves closer in order to capture it within her own hands. 

“You will have a grand time in London, Margaret, I know it.” She smiles, content with the idea, and Margaret knows that she will go to London, no matter how she longs to stay by her mother’s side.

-

Margaret realises that she has made a rather large, absolutely dire mistake. Reading over Edith’s letter once more, Margaret simply does not know how it slipped her mind. Only a handful of words damn her, a small but incredibly significant passage, something Margaret has heard from her many times;

_ \--and we shall have such a grand time, the four of us, such that you shall have something bright to remember. The Captain and myself, and Henry, and yourself, seeing such delights! Oh, Margaret-- _

The Captain and myself, and  _ Henry _ , and yourself. Such a gay little group they had made, in London, before Edith and Captain Lennox had married, before Henry had proposed. It was this very phrase which had given Margaret pause the first time she had read it, unsure as to whether she would attend the Great Exhibition with such a group. Why she had originally declined the invitation. Surely she could think of very few things worse than spending the day with Mr. Lennox, and with Edith who was no sort of buffer at all. 

And now, she had not only accepted, though Margaret had yet to alert Edith of this, she had extended the invitation to Mr. and Miss Thornton. She would have been incredibly lucky is Mr. Lennox had held his tongue about her supposed courtship with Mr. Hale were it only her in attendance. With both herself and Mr. Hale, there is no chance. Mr. Lennox  _ will  _ bring the topic to light. 

With Edith likely beside her when Mr. Lennox speaks of it, Edith will interrogate her immediately. Her lie will either be found out with great haste, or Margaret will manage to dig the hole within which she has come to reside even deeper. And with Mr. Thornton there to talk to - oh  _ no _ , with Fanny Thornton there as well - Margaret feels faint at the idea. 

The false courtship, which had started to feel like a marvelous jape shared with Mr. Thornton, albeit at Mr. Lennox’s expense, now turns her stomach. Oh, how foolish she has been, to think she could have escaped from this lie unscathed.

The ‘fact’ of her courtship with Mr. Thornton will be revealed, no matter which path Margaret endeavours to undertake from this point. And, following swiftly on the heels of such a declaration, will come its dissolution. Rather public dissolution, Margaret thinks, given Fanny Thornton’s likely presence during the whole upcoming debacle. The story of their failed courtship will spread through Milton, and Margaret has no doubt as to who will take the responsibility for the deterioration of their ‘relationship.’

When the choice is between Mr. Thornton, a respected manufacturer and gentleman, and herself, there will be no question in the minds of the people of Milton. 

There is no question in Margaret’s mind, either. Though Mr. Thornton was kind enough to aid her in this endeavour, the folly remains her own. She places the letter at her desk, and walks to the window. 

The early morning light is not as bright as it would have been in Helstone, the sky almost perpetually darkened by the soot and ash of industrialisation. She had spent her first few days in Milton in fear of the heavens breaking open whilst she was searching for their accomodation, sure that such dark clouds could mean but one thing. She has become accustomed to the sight of them, now, the way they dilute sunlight.

Leaning against the sill, Margaret resists the urge to gather her shawl and hat, and head for Marlborough Mill. The walk there would help her think, and perhaps the sight of Milton, or Marlborough, or Mr. Thornton, would act as inspiration, her mind suddenly revealing a course of action which could salvage the situation she has found herself in. Unfortunately, Margaret is well aware that such hopes are futile, because she cannot fathom a way to undo what she has wrought. This is not a simple matter, and there is no easy, graceful way to fix it. The only way to avert the entire situation would be to go to Henry and confess, but that would barely solve anything. 

Painting herself as a wilful liar, and Mr. Thornton as her accomplice, is no valid path forward. From the very moment when Mr. Thornton had come to her assistance a sennight ago, confessing the lie had become impossible. Since that moment, Margaret has come to like it, their shared lie. Perhaps  _ that _ is why everything is going to end so horribly, because she has so enjoyed the lie, rather than the lie itself. 

From that first civil conversation, where they had discussed Plato and Margaret had been taken aback by the unexpected delight of Mr. Thornton’s smile, to lunch yesterday, where she had discovered an affection for the man.

How fickle she must seem, to have changed her opinion of the man so rapidly. From her disdain only a week ago, to… this. An intense awareness of Mr. Thornton, whenever they cross paths. Her ears attuned to the sound of his voice, so that she would know him even across a crowded street. Perhaps this sentiment towards him had been building for some time, unnoticed and unwanted in the shadow of their intentional distance. And now, such affection was already in bloom, and all the more surprising for it. This was no seedling, no fragile bud, to be sheltered, and nurtured - or easily pruned and removed.

Margaret thinks she would have prefered to discover such warmth then, when she may have shaped it into something appropriate. The contentment of friendship, a platonic appreciation of the man. Now it is far too late for that. Instead, she will have to content herself with friendship, and hope that, with the dissolution of their lie, they do not fall back into old patterns. She does not think she could argue with Mr. Thornton in the same way she used to. Once her disdain for the man had been so absolute that, had he said the sky was blue, she would have disputed him, upon the grounds that the sky above Milton is perpetually grey.

Now, she would debate with the man for hours if she could, just to have the pleasure of his company. 

Oh, she is becoming the worst sort of fool. Standing at a window, melancholic over a love she will never have, and a friendship which she came upon only through deceit. It would serve her right, should Mr. Thornton spurn her presence henceforth. Certainly he would, were he to ever know about her unfortunate affections for him. She must cease all such nonsense at once, before she loses the companionship she has come to value.

Mind firmly made up, Margaret goes to turn away from the window, thoughts already on her letter to Edith, when she spots something on the street. Rather, someone. Mr. Henry Lennox, presumably headed towards their home. She stares at his familiar form, before panic besets her, and she rushes away.

“Frederick!” She hisses as loudly as she dares, heading upstairs to where her mother has taken residence for the day. She says his name again upon entering the room and seeing him lounged on a chair, jacket discarded to one side, still working on his letter.

“Maggie?” He shoots up, alarmed by her wide eyed panic. “What is it?” He’s snatched his letter up, and his jacket, and rushes to the window, peeking through the curtains. His entire body relaxes when the red he had been expecting is conspicuously absent. That he’s well versed in this sort of scrambling panic saddens her, and angers her. The rampant unfairness of it, that he could not feel safe even in the home of his parents, and all because of that monstrous Captain. Margaret wishes, as she has wished often, that Frederick had never gone to sea. That his assignment had been different, and the Captain fair, and her brother returned home if not with accolades and glory, then at least  _ returned _ .

“Henry Lennox is on his way.” She explains. “You must hide. Make sure there is nothing that would speak to your presence and… hide in my room. There is no chance of discovery, there.” He nods, a grave cast to his face, and Margaret finds that it suits him ill. Her brother should never have cause to do anything but smile and laugh. 

Frederick bounds from the room, and she can hear his footsteps descending the stair, and his voice as he encounters either their father or Dixon. Meanwhile, Margaret pours her mother another cup of tea to soothe her. Her own hands are barely steady enough, and her mother pats her hand reassuringly. 

“Fear not, Margaret, Mr. Lennox has no reason to suspect we have Frederick here.” She smiles, and sips at her tea. Moments later, they hear Dixon answer the door, and Margaret feels any sense of calm her mother’s words had brought evaporate. They listen as footsteps ascend the stairs, and soon enough Henry stands in the doorway. He looks uncomfortable but, thankfully, not suspicious. Mother is right, of course - Henry has no idea that Frederick is in residence. They are safe.  _ Frederick  _ is safe.

Such relief, after such panic, has left Margaret feeling drained of energy. She would much rather avoid Henry’s visit entirely, but it is too late to avoid him without obvious rudeness. Were she in possession of that northern bluntness, perhaps she would be able to extricate herself. Instead, she greets him, as does her mother, whilst Dixon goes to fetch Father from his study.

What follows is the third-most excruciating visit she has ever had in her life. It will come as a surprise to noone that the incidents in first and second place both include the presence of Mr. Henry Lennox. His second and first proposals, respectively. 

The small talk engaged in is stilted and forced, coming in awkward bursts, often slightly louder than necessary, each of them desperate for a topic of conversation capable of lasting more than a minute. Margaret knows that, on her father’s behalf, it’s because of his worry for Frederick. Usually, his presence at any occasion means that there is unlikely to be an absence of conversation. She rather thinks it is a byproduct of his years of church service, that he’s able to converse with any sort of person, upon any sort of topic.

And yet today, he stumbles as the rest of them do.

It is her father’s fumbles, Margaret thinks, that tilt the balance. Richard Hale, tongue-tied over a social call. Unthinkable. Had it not been for that, she rather thinks the visit would have remained uneventful, if stilted. Instead, after he has stood and given painfully formal partings, receiving in return words just as hesitant and out of place as those uttered for the past quarter hour, Mr. Lennox takes exception to such treatment.

“While I am unsure of the particular etiquette regarding the situation Margaret and I have found ourselves in, surely I am not so unwelcome a guest as be on the receiving end of such conversation.” Henry says, straight backed, most of his ire somehow falling upon Margaret, even though he’s staring at her father.

“The situation with Margaret and yourself?” Her father asks, before Margaret can do more than take a shocked breath.

“Do not insult me by playing coy, Mr. Hale.” Henry says, drawing himself up, the pride of a London gentleman just as unwieldy as that of those she had condemned in the north.

“I meant no offence, Mr. Lennox. Only, I do not know the situation you speak of. Margaret?” Her father appeals to her, confused, and Margaret wishes desperately that she had tea left, to give herself time to think. Time to formulate an answer. 

“The situation wherein I have been refused twice, the second time in favour of another man.” Henry saves her from speech and makes things worse for her, all in one fell swoop. Margaret wishes he had slighted her parents by staying far, far away from their home in his remaining days in Milton. That, surely, would have been better than the shocked looks upon both of their faces. The only thing Margaret can be thankful for is that, in the past few moments, Henry has made a move towards the door, so that he is unable to witness the shock decorating both her parents faces as they stare at her. Were he to see their expressions, and draw conclusions from them - Margaret does not want to imagine what assumptions he would make. 

Something that would cast aspersions on her reputation, surely.

“I had not informed my parents of your second proposal, Henry.” Margaret informs him, stalling what he had no doubt intended to be a righteous and damning exit. Immediately, a ruddy colour inks his cheeks, and Margaret moves to save them both, by offering to escort him down the stairs. He accepts with all the grace he can and, having already uttered his farewells, precedes her down the stairs. She waits in silence as he pulls on his coat and gloves, taking his hat in hand.

“I  _ am _ sorry for the awkwardness of this visit, Henry.” Although she says it only to keep the peace, she is not lying. They had been friends, once, before he had somehow gained the absurd notion of marrying her. Neither of them have been their best selves, in the resultant conversations. Margaret especially, considering the weight of the lie on her conscience. 

“And you have my apologies for the rudeness of my final comments.” But Margaret can still see that, behind his conciliatory words, he is not satisfied. Perhaps he will merely think that her parents were aware, that she is lying to salvage the situation. Or, perhaps, he will accept her words, only to then wonder why, exactly, his visit had still proceeded with such ill mannered silences. Suspicious, one might think, if given the right incentive. As such, Margaret continues with,

“It is only… Mama has been brought so low by the weather recently.” She says, delicately. It, also, is no falsehood. Though she tries to keep her letters to Edith lighthearted, mention of her mother’s ailments are unavoidable, and Margaret knows that word of it has reached Henry by the way his face reassembles into understanding, and sympathy. There is regret there, also. 

“I hope her spirits improve. I should have sent word before calling, my unannounced presence cannot have helped. I am terribly sorry, Margaret. Please, pass my sincerest well wishes onto your mother.” Margaret inclines her head gracefully, reaching for the door handle.

“Will you be calling again before you depart Milton?”

“My business has concluded more rapidly than anticipated, so I find it unlikely that I will have occasion to do so prior to my departure.” For a moment, Margaret speculates, rather unkindly, that had he not been so foolish as to seek her hand a second time, his business in Milton would have concluded even earlier. Or would have been concluded from London.

“In that case, I wish you safe travels and will see you for the Great Exhibition.” Henry smiles at her, and she does her best not to usher him through the front door. Though she knows he has no idea of Frederick’s presence, worry has returned at the prospect of being discovered, so close to success. And yet, when he is finally standing on the stoop and far enough away that she would not hit him with the door, Margaret does not close it firmly and relax. Instead, she calls out, gripped by the brilliance of a sudden thought.

“When are you leaving? For I wish to send Edith a letter regarding the Great Exhibition, and fear it will not arrive in time, should I send it by post.”

“I plan to be on the seven sharp train, the morning after tomorrow. Deliver the letter to me any time tomorrow, Margaret. Good day.” And then he is gone, and Margaret can finally close the door with relief.

“Margaret?” Her father calls, leaning over the bannister.

“Frederick can come out, everything is fine. And Henry leaves Milton in two days.” She can hear her father’s sigh of relief, a mirror of her own, only moments earlier. The respite from worry is brief, however. She has a day and a half to word a letter to Edith regarding the entire situation. And she shall have to inform Mr. Thornton of all that she had accidentally forgotten to inform him, when he had accepted her invitation to the Great Exhibition.

-

There is a nervousness that Margaret experiences the next day, a feeling so completely unexpected, that leaves her hovering outside of Mr. Thornton’s office door. He is expecting her, so loitering as she is doing only whiles away the time until she is at risk of being later than the hour they had agreed upon, two days prior. Had she only set out to see Mr. Thornton yesterday, before Henry had arrived, she would not be feeling so unsettled.

For, once they had all relaxed after the tense situation of Henry’s visit, her parents had inquired about whom she had so preferred over Henry Lennox to have denied him a second time. And Margaret, beneath the curious eyes of her family, had kept quiet, answering all question with a shake of her head, with a softly demurred deflection. Until Frederick, the unfortunately insightful man that he is, had cocked his head to the side, and said, feigned innocence dripping from every inch of him,

_ “Well, Maggie did have lunch with that Mr. Thornton yesterday…”  _ He had trailed off, looking delighted at the glare she shot him.

_ “You cannot mean - John Thornton?”  _ Confusion had been thick in her father’s tone, clearly remembering the times she’d sat in on Mr. Thornton’s lessons. The sounds of heated debate, only a handful of words away from an argument, likely still ringing in his ears. Perhaps he had wondered if there was another man of the same name, a far fetched coincidence seemingly more likely than Margaret favouring the man he teaches.

_ “You did say he was attentive during the party Mr. Bell threw.”  _ Her mother had been quick to remind him, and Margaret had known defeat the moment her father had blinked, the light of understanding coming to his eyes.

Had it only been Frederick, she would have told the truth.  Knowing him, he would have found it quite the lark. Her father, she could have diverted with talk of a book, or a paper. A rousing discussion would have put the notion right out of his head. Indeed, both men soon lost interest in Margaret, who had done her best to keep her own confidences regarding the entire situation, though the look Frederick had given her meant he would return to the subject eventually. Her father had gone back to his study, and Frederick to another corner of the house to continue his letter.

But Mama, she had not lost interest. She had settled onto the lounge, coaxing Margaret to join her, and clasped their hands together. The skin of her mother’s hand was soft and warm against her own, and so terribly fragile. Quietly, she had questioned Margaret about Mr. Thornton, about her potential affection for the man and Margaret - she should have been more reticent. Should have been more flippant, less obvious in her clear affection. 

She had been none of those things. Instead, Margaret had answered, voice quiet but all the more sincere for it. All the things she had been turning in her head, words and excuses that she had been thinking up in the event she had to explain herself to her family, in case she was found out, were useless. Had this discussion come about mere days earlier, she could have used them. Perhaps even told the truth of her lie, shameful as it would have been. But not now, knowing the depth of her affection. She could not lie so blatantly to her mother, not when she did not ask about the courtship, but instead about how Margaret  _ felt _ .

And she felt quite a bit.

With each word she had spoken, her mother’s smile had gained in radiance, her eyes lit with happiness. Margaret had long since known that her mother had given up on witnessing the marriage of her daughter; everyone had, in truth. Henry had been the only man to have shown interest in her. Is still the only man to have such an interest in her, though her mother does not know this. She thinks that Margaret is being courted by Mr. Thornton, and is delighted to find that it appears to be a love match, such that her own marriage had been.

As much as Margaret wishes to say that she had only continued the charade for the pleasure of her mother, she cannot. To pretend, even if only to her mother, and to Dixon when she had entered with a fresh pot of tea and stayed to join the conversation, had been… Margaret would say she had enjoyed it immensely, were it not for the sorrow that cut sharply through her breast with the knowledge that it was all false. That the admiration, the warmth, she held for Mr. Thornton is true does not change a thing.

But for an hour or two, her hand being lovingly pressed by her mother, Dixon’s encouraging interjections making them both laugh, Margaret had wished fervently that it was true. That the charade which had ballooned into a lie was not a blatant falsehood. To do so had been a mistake, she had known immediately, but that had not stopped her.

And now she stand in front of the door to Mr. Thornton’s office. Her weakness of the previous evening had been a ridiculous indulgence even then, and one she has come to regret heavily. Mr. Thornton had assisted her when he had no reason to, before friendship had grown between the two of them, and continued to help her from the goodness of his heart. And she had taken advantage of that, had continuously insinuated herself in his presence, had  _ stared _ at him, at his state of disarray in a completely inappropriate manner.

It is only through sheer luck that he hasn’t discovered her yet. And, should she continue to act in the manner she is currently, that luck was certain to run out. What Margaret needed to do, what she  _ will _ do, is to take herself in hand and act like the rational adult she is capable of being. No more loitering, no more nervousness, no more rhapsodising Mr. Thornton to her mother and Dixon.

Thus decided, she knocks sharply on the door, entering once she receives permission.

“Miss Hale,” He greets her warmly, inciting a regrettable flutter of feeling within Margaret, which she ignores completely as he stands. “You’re early.” 

Ah. The apparent infinity she’d spent stood outside of his door had taken less time than expected.

“Mr. Thornton. Surely I have not arrived early enough to remark upon.” A smile curls the edge of his mouth at her rebuke, and he inclines his head.

“You’d be correct, Miss Hale.” He closes the ledger open on his desk, and moves it to the side, before standing. 

“Would you be content to eat lunch here, or would you prefer to dine at the house?” The thought of another lunch with Miss and Mrs. Thornton so soon to the last would have been enough for her to prefer their current location, even if she did not have to speak with him about their shared deception.

“Here would be wonderful, Mr. Thornton. We have more than simply the London trip to speak of, after all.” He nods, and commences clearing his desk of its office trappings, revealing a surface upon which Margaret would be happy to eat from.

“Jane will bring us something shortly.” He informs her with a small smile, clearly having anticipated her decision. He moves the guest chair closer to the desk, before offering her the seat he had previously been using.

“I will be perfectly fine with the chair in front of the desk.”

“It might not be very comfortable to eat with your legs pressed against the wood of the desk.”

“A fact which I will now repeat back to you, given that, of the two of us, you are taller. I will be perfectly fine with less room, whilst you would be most uncomfortable.” Margaret is sure that he cannot possible refute such logic, and yet he persists.

“Will you not let me be a gracious host, Miss Hale?” He enquires, polite tone of voice only heightening the teasing edge she thinks she can detect. Unfortunately, he has hit upon an argument that she cannot deny. But Margaret knows that she is correct - for Mr. Thornton to attempt to eat in such a manner would be most uncomfortable for him. Even with his lower legs pressed hard against the wood of the desk, she rather thinks he’d be too far away to eat properly. He’d have to hunch, leant forward in an ungainly display, just to cut his meal. No, she will not allow it.

“We are both reasonable adults. Surely we can sit at the same side of a table without incident.” Margaret says, and yet she can feel her heart thunder in her chest. Yet again, she is taking advantage of their new found friendship, attempting to seat herself next to him, instead of across the table as would be proper. Before she can rescind her statement, brand it a foolish idea, he has agreed. He hefts the second chair with ease, carrying it round the desk.

A rather inappropriate thought attempts to make itself known at the sight, but Margaret ignores it entirely, and thanks Mr. Thornton graciously when he gestures for her to be seated, before seating himself. The chairs are, of course, placed at a respectable distance, so that no bounds of propriety are crossed. Mr. Thornton would have no reason to do otherwise, as Margaret well knows. And yet, she imagines that they are seated just a fraction too close to be proper. 

Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. Truly, she must get a grip on this regrettable feeling. Such a simple word does nothing to describe the honest depths of her affection for Mr. Thornton, such strong emotions that she had never thought to experience herself. And yet, she cannot allow herself to think of it in such terms. Last night, her mother had given voice to the feeling within her chest, that expands and warms whenever she thinks on Mr. Thornton, on his smile, but Margaret will not.

She is not so foolish as to pursue unrequited -

Margaret has always been sensible, and sensible she shall remain.

“How have you been, Miss Hale?” Mr. Thornton turns to face her, and Margaret matches him, so that they are both leaning towards the arms of their chairs. Seated so improperly, they are far closer than they ought to be. Once, she would have commented on such a thing, forcing them both to retreat to the appropriate distance. Margaret finds no desire to do so now, and wonders what it is that Mr. Thornton thinks of their closeness. Likely he has not even noticed. Why would his thoughts ever stray to their proximity, like hers do.  _ He  _ suffers from no such unfortunate malady of the heart. 

“Busy. The trip to London is so close at hand, I feel rather unprepared.”

“You, Miss Hale? Surely not.”

“I had initially rejected Edith’s offer to accompany her, you see, so I only started to prepare the same day I made the offer to your sister.” Mr. Thornton blinks, surprise obvious on his face.

“Do you mean to say that, before lunch two days ago, you were not attending the Great Exhibition? And that have you reconsidered only because of Fanny’s desire to see London?”

“Precisely so, Mr. Thornton.” Though she had not completely thought through the offer she had extended to Fanny Thornton, or its consequences, Margaret finds that she cannot completely regret it. The conversation which Fanny had single handedly embarked upon after being given permission had not been to Margaret’s taste, however the younger woman’s joy and enthusiasm had been clear. One person, at least, would find nothing but delight in their trip to London.

The door swings open, Jane entering with their lunch. She doesn’t say anything about their unconventional arrangement, and Margaret finds that she does not want to look at the maid’s face to discern if she thinks anything untoward is happening. Not that there would ever be. Margaret supposes that she is simply paranoid that what she feels is visible to any who care to look.

“Thank you, Miss Hale, for bringing such delight to my sister. Even if she has been more unbearable than usual the past few days.” He shoots her a sly smile as he says it, and Margaret cannot help but laugh, though it is incredibly rude to speak of Miss Thornton in such a manner, even when there’s no one to hear but the two of them and Jane, who’s already leaving the office. Margaret supposes that Mr. Thornton will not tell his sister, seeing as it was he who made the joke at her expense.

“It is no hardship. Although, should you be feeling especially grateful, you could organise somewhere else for her to sit during our long train journey.” Margaret only realises the possible implications of her jest once the full sentence has left her mouth, and all addendums she can think of would only draw more attention to her misstep. Worse, she had intended to invite an air of secrecy to their conversation in jest, as though Miss Thornton could appear at any minute and overhear them. 

Margaret, as she often has since coming to Milton, regrets opening her mouth at all.

Hopefully, even with her low voice, Mr. Thornton thinks nothing further of the statement than what she had innocently intended. He stares at her for a long moment, gaze intense as it usually is, though Margaret feels it much more keenly than she usually does. Surely Mr. Thornton understands that she is also referring to his sister’s sometimes trying conversation, rather than intentionally wishing for a compartment with only the two of them, or anything of the sort.

“If only we were married, Miss Hale,” He finally replies, quietly, and Margaret finds that she is quite out of breath, suddenly, her heart pounding heavily though she has not moved. “For that is the only way we could escape Fanny’s company!” He continues, loudly, turning abruptly towards his lunch. Margaret follows suit half a second later, trying to will her faint heart back into compliance. Mr. Thornton had meant nothing by such words, as she had meant nothing by hers.

She suddenly understands what Henry had said, so many months ago, about not speaking of marriage in such a way. Marriage is truly not a thing to be brought up between unmarried friends, lest one of them have trouble remembering that there can never be anything more than friendship between them. 

They spend a few minutes eating in silence. Margaret feels it heavily, as though tension has sprung up between them, when she knows it is only a figment of her imagination. What reason would Mr. Thornton have to feel as awkward as she?

“You said you wanted to speak on more than our upcoming trip?” Mr. Thornton eventually inquires.

“While it does involve the trip to London, I wished to speak of our ruse.”

“Ah, yes. Our  _ ruse _ .” He parrots, and Margaret flicks her eyes over to him, to find a peculiar grin quirking his mouth.

“It slipped my mind when I made the offer, but along with my cousin Edith and her husband, Henry Lennox will be attending the Great Exhibition with us.” Though Margaret is hopeful about the future of her friendship with Henry, Mr. Thornton’s expression makes it clear that he has no such wishes.

“The problem being, I assume, that Mr. Lennox believes us to be courting, while both my sister and your cousin hold no such- delusions, as it were.”

“I have to write a letter to my cousin still, which I shall send with Henry, and I thought it could be to our benefit should we get Edith on our side. In whatever manner we deem appropriate.” He mulls it over as they continue to eat, and Margaret continues to think about the best way to write to Edith.

“As it is your cousin, I will defer to your wisdom in this, Miss Hale.” Mr. Thornton finally says, and Margaret cannot help but raise an eyebrow, finally turning away from her lunch to look at him.

“Now I shall have to write the papers, Mr. Thornton!”

“I do not think they would believe you, Miss Hale.” 

They share a smile, which erases all the work their quiet meal had done to ease the warmth in her chest to something reasonable. 

 

 

 

_ Dear Edith,  _

_ I have news which I am certain you will be excited by, though I shall have to also extend my sincerest apologies. Though it is such late notice, and I have already declined your invitation, I would be delighted and thankful if you would still allow me to accompany you to Great Exhibition. And, even should you no longer be amenable to my company during such a time, I must confess - I shall be in attendance anyway. _

_ I was dining with the Thorntons - I’ve written to you of them before, if you recall - when I extended the invitation to Miss Fanny Thornton, that she ought to accompany us - that is, you and I - to the Great Exhibition. She accepted almost immediately, with great excitement, and I’m afraid that it was only later when I realised how carelessly I had extended the invitation. _

_ Sorry to say, I now request a favour. Another, after that of your forgiveness for my thoughtless behaviour, and your presence in our company as we tour the Great Exhibition. While Mr. Thornton has assured me, several times, at length, that he can find suitable accommodation for himself and his sister, and that he has no wish to be an imposition upon your goodwill and generosity, I find myself worried about the availability of such lodgings with such short notice. _

_ If you could, I know that there are rooms aplenty at your home, and - oh Edith, I’m rather making a mess of this, aren’t I? I have changed my mind about the Great Exhibition, and about the nature of Mr. Thornton. I find myself more fickle than I had ever envisioned. Perhaps it is all the smoke and soot in the air, clouding my good sense. _

_ I would so appreciate if you were able to find some room for Mr. Thornton, his sister and I whilst we visit London for the Great Exhibition. I’ll be sending this letter with Henry, so it should arrive to you with just enough time for your reply to reach me, should you send one with haste. I look forward to hearing from you, whatever the content of the letter, as always.  _

_ And I simply cannot wait to see how much little Cosmo has grown in my absence. _

_ All my love, _

_ Margaret. _


End file.
